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Hardly aware that I'm doing it, I scoop one of the fallen guards’ pistols, feeling for the safety just like Liam taught me. My muscles protesting, the battle a blur around me, I stand up and sprint to Lucas, vaguely aware that the guys have realized what I'm doing and are suppressing his men's fire.
Just as my husband's hand finds the knob to the door, I put the barrel of the gun to the back of his head and click off the safety. "Don't move," I pant.
Lucas spits out a curse. "You really think you're gonna shoot me, Vivian? Huh?" he demands. "You gonna shoot your own husband?”
“You shot me,” I point out. “You kidnapped me. You tried to kill all of us. And then…” My throat thickens. “And then you shot my father. You think I won’t fucking shoot you?”
Lucas snorts. “You don’t know what it’s like to pull the trigger, sweetheart. You don’t know what it’s like to do the shit I do around here. You really think you have it in you?" He gives a breathless laugh. "You're just a fucking puppet, Vivian. Mine, your father's, my father's, Theo's... doesn't matter. You'll never be anything else.”
And with that, he turns the knob and opens the door—
—just as I pull the trigger.
I didn't totally expect anything to happen, but then... it does. The gunshot rings through the room. Blood flies. Lucas seems to freeze mid-motion, his hand still on the doorknob... and then he slumps to the floor, dead. I stare down at his body, my ears ringing, the world swaying around me.
Lucas Emmerico is dead, and I killed him.
Just like that, it's like a spell has been lifted, washing over the guards, the guys, everyone who was caught up in the battle just a few seconds ago. Slowly, everyone begins to lower their weapons, their expressions either ones of relief or confusion as they process that the man at the center of it all—the man who was purging this city from the inside out—has just been killed. I don’t blame them; I can barely believe it myself. As the new batch of guards storms in, they skid to a halt at the sight of their boss dead on the floor, and I can see the question that's written on all their faces:What now?
Theo doesn't hesitate to answer it. "No one move," he says, standing up with his gun in hand. “It looks like this operation is once again under new management. Anyone thinks of trying anything, and I promise you'll regret it.”
His eyes meet mine from across the room as he approaches me, taking me by the hand and helping me to my feet. Tristan and Liam are right behind him, surrounding me and pulling me into a collective embrace. Wary, the remaining guards in the office slowly begin to put down their guns as the newly-arrived group looks around, clearly trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.
Me? I’m too busy melting into the guys' embrace to care about anything else. They're okay. They're really okay. The relief that floods through me is so intense, so all-encompassing, that I almost burst into tears right there in the middle of the office. In the end, though, I hold them back, and as I bask in the presence of the men I love, I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.
It's over.
It's finally over.
Epilogue
"You're sure you're okay?" I ask my dad as we say our goodbyes and drift toward the foyer of the house where I grew up, with the guys on either side of me and Violet and my mother bringing up the rear.
"Been better," my father grunts, stiffly rolling the shoulder where he got shot. "This is gonna take some time to get back to normal.”
"I know the feeling," I agree, my eyes drifting to the spot on my own upper chest where Lucas's bullet pierced my flesh all those months ago. Sometimes it still aches, but I find that those moments are growing fewer and farther between the more time passes.
"You're young," my father retorts. "You heal quickly. Me? I'll take months, I'm sure. Years, maybe. If you weren't taking over for me, I'd worry about the future of this organization.”
"You worry about it already, honey," Mum points out, putting a hand on his arm. "You can't keep running things from your bed.”
"I know that, Melissa," Dad retorts. "Cut me some slack. Retiring is hard enough without people harping on you about it all day long.”
"We're not harping," my mother says, coolly but lovingly.
"We are a little," Violet corrects as we reach the door. "You're gonna have to find something else to do with all your free time, Dad.”
"Advising us as we run the new syndicate?" Liam asks, crossing his arms. "I'd say he'll have plenty to keep him busy.”
"Don't give him any ideas," Violet warns.
Theo laughs at that. "I think he's got enough ideas to last a lifetime," he says. "Ideas that are, of course, welcome," he adds, and there's no facetiousness in his tone.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," my father gripes, waving a hand at him. "Enough with the chit chat. Don't you all have an art show to go to?”
Tristan checks his watch. "It doesn't start for an hour.”
"I was hoping we could talk to Callie before she gets whisked away by all her guests," I reply. "It's tough being a hotshot gallery owner. Just ask Craig. Soon she'll be cranky all the time and start calling people only by their last names.”
